


Wrapped Around Your Finger

by orphan_account



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Diary, F/M, Heartbreak, Sadness, wrapped around your finger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-12
Updated: 2014-10-12
Packaged: 2018-02-20 21:59:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2444651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If you could fall for someone knowing they would grant your every wish, would you? Would you regret it when they left you feeling broken like glass? Because I do. Good lord, do I.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wrapped Around Your Finger

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t know what this is really. I’m in a bad mood and guys suck and I have had this idea stuck in my head for days about if only part of Wrapped Around Your Finger was true, where part of it wasn’t his feelings. I cried writing this by the way. Partly based on true feelings/encounters/life, partly my imagination. Which part is which though, I shall not say. Enjoy.

_October 9th, 10:01 pm._

 

If you could fall for someone knowing they would grant your every wish, would you? Would you regret it when they left you feeling broken like glass? Because I do. Good lord, do I.

 

I don’t know how it happened. Honestly, I don’t even know when it started. Why I’m even writing this, I can’t say. There are only 2 things I’m certain of: one, he was a risk, someone that no one should ever fall for unless they wished for the worst case scenario. And two? I fell harder than I did the night I fell out of my window into his arms.

 

My friend said writing helps her. That getting your feelings out on paper makes it easier to sort them out. I guess to try and make sense of it all I should start at the beginning. And when I say beginning, I mean back to the minute we met, the first time I ever laid my eyes on him.

 

He was so far out of my league. Still is. Was. Anyways, it was a party. I’d been drinking- underage, of course. I was 17- he was 18. It was a bonfire, celebrating the fact that my class had graduated. He was friends with one of the guy’s older sister’s ex-boyfriend’s something or another, but he and his 3 friends showed up. And I was taken. The way his eyes glimmered in the fire, his hair perfectly in place, a smile that could charm the pants off of anyone. And then there was me- awkward, there for the booze and weed, nothing more, and no intention of hooking up.

 

But all intentions go to the wind when you’re 17 and drunk, right?

 

Anyways, I was on the back of a pickup- that’s what my best friend drove, and also happened to be the place with the vodka- in the warm Cali air, a red cup in my hand. My hair had been pulled back- I had some sort of rehearsal that afternoon and hadn’t changed- when I heard my name called from the other side, close to the pit, to come over and play. So I did. Even now, looking back, I can’t remember why or how I even went over. But I sat down next to him in front of the fire, and was handed a guitar. So I did what I knew best- I performed. I played something like two songs before handing it to a drummer in the band at school- Jake, I think?- who started to play. And that’s when we were introduced.

 

 

His voice was like heaven when he spoke, and I wanted nothing more than to listen to him talk forever. His accent was the most incredible thing I’d heard in months, maybe even years. I can still remember how my breath was taken from when he spoke. “I’m Michael.” He said. I was silent for a moment before smiling and telling him my name. He gave me the ‘beautiful name for a beautiful girl’ line, and I cringed, causing him to laugh. He complimented my singing, and I thanked him. He told me he was a singer too, but mainly guitar, and the whole reason he was even in California was because he and his friends were making a record- their first record. I made a comment about how I dreamed of performing for thousands and he said he did too. He wrapped an arm around my shoulders and we talked for minutes until he got the guitar, playing us a Green Day song and two by All Time Low. He had one of the best voices I’ve ever heard, and even now as I sit here and listen to his voice flowing through my headphones, it’s still incredible. I’m still taken back. But he… He was everything I wanted, everything I couldn’t have, and everything I dreamed of all wrapped up in one nice tall pink haired package. We talked for a while longer, both drinking things far stronger than we could handle, before she, my ride, came over and told me it was time to go. I stood, handing him back his jacket, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. It lingered for a moment before I made a comment, trying to be sexy or something, but I probably just made a fool of myself. I walked off, climbing into her car before we drove off. She dropped me off minutes later, and I immediately went to my room, changing out of the day old clothes. I should have known something was off.

 

Twenty minutes later, I could hear the soft ‘ping’s of something hitting my window. I looked, and there, standing below in the sand of my beach backyard, he was. It was around 12:15, and I was in shock. I remember him convincing me to climb down- in nothing my by pajama shorts and a tank- and me falling, him steadying me before I looked at him- he looked different, calmer, more… sober, maybe? Either way, we walked down to the ocean, and he made a comment about the moon and how it was bright. I was silent the whole time, a small smile on my face before I looked at him and asked how he’d found my house. “I followed you, of course.” He made it seem like it was the most normal thing he could’ve done. “Waited until you had changed. I couldn’t let you get away from me that quickly.” He had this smirk that I still can’t get out of my head. He had stopped walking at that point, and suddenly dropped into the sand, pulling me with him, looking up at the stars. He started talking about how they weren’t the same as back home, where you could see so many constilations. And then he told me to tell him about me, something I didn’t like doing anyways. But I did. I told him everything I possibly could, including how I wanted to travel the world and perform. And he told me I could, that I could travel with him while they worked and I could write and record and he’d help me get a record deal, hell he’d sign me to his when they started it up- it was still in the works at that point, but he said I had something no other girl did. And I remember rolling over, suddenly very sober, looking at him as I laid on his chest with his hands on the small of my back, playing with the hem of my shirt while he smiled up at me. I asked him if he was serious. He said as a bowl of cornflakes. I slapped his chest, and he laughed, looking up at me- or the stars, I’m still not too sure which, before he asked if it was too soon for him to kiss me. And me, being the girl who was desperately in love with the idea of love, in love with performing, and being held by a boy who had the opportunity to make that come true- I said yes. And I was drunk again.

 

 

We kissed and laughed and then kissed again, before he sat up and his hands started roaming and the kisses became longer and more clothing was removed and… Well, let’s just say the drink is better than the act. I had sand in places sand shouldn’t be for weeks. But after, I pulled on his shirt and I was hooked on him. It was weird, but I knew I had fallen, and I knew he hadn’t, wouldn’t for that matter, and yet I still did. I think back and can hear myself saying, ‘Don’t do it.’ Standing at my window, looking down at him- don’t do it. Listening to him sing and talk- don’t do it. Sitting in the sand- don’t do it. Believing him while he promised to make my dreams become reality- don’t so it. Kissing him- don’t do it. Don’t fall for him. Do not, what ever you do, don’t fall for him. He’s almost famous, he’ll forget about you in a heartbeat. But a small voice in my head told me I was wrong. He did love me. He did fall just as hard as I had that night. He cared, so much so that he’d let me travel the world with him. He’d let me help write songs for his band. I would have the chance to do it all, and he would do it with me- this beautiful Australlian stranger. And I believed it. But I pulled on his Blink tee, laying next to him in the sand as he drew shapes on my back, lulling me to sleep with promises of selling out shows, singing with me every night… And even though I knew nothing other than what he’d told me, I fell. Hard. Hard enough that I stopped performing, for fear I’d see him at a show. But now here I am- a year later and I’m still not over him. He brought me to life with his kiss and killed me with it at the same time.

 

 

I knew he was gone. God, I was so fucking naive to think he wouldn’t. I clung to him so hard, thinking it would stop him. But I woke up on a beach alone with nothing but a shirt to remind me that it actually happened. And I don’t know what’s worse, the fact that he left it, or the fact that my mother found me hours later, still crying over him, screaming for him to come back and take me away from this horrid life where I would be forced to go to medical school, to come and save me. We’d been together for less than 12 hours and yet here I was, hoping, praying he would return, when in actuallity, I was just a fuck. That’s how most guys are, you know. They come in with a smile that makes your heart skip a beat and eyes that make you never want to look away for fear you’d miss a color, a shade, promising you the world and the universe and everything in between, compliment after promise after beautifully structured thought they’ve rehearsed a thousand times before on tons of other girls… And then they rip you open and take you apart, leaving you to fix yourself. Leaving you questioning if it was real or a dream, but leaving you with one thing to tell you it actually happened. That he actually was there, he did say every single damn word, that he kissed me you to ignight every flame in your body, only to leave you to either notice and put out the flames before it was too late, or to burn from the inside out until you’re nothing more than ashes and dust, too far broken to be fixed. In one night, your every wish can be granted and then poof- taken away once more. 

 

 

Few things about that song- You know the one. Or maybe you don’t, either way. He makes it out like he’s the one who got hurt in this. He’s not. He was… Trouble. Complete and utter trouble. But I was the one out of my mind. I was the one who screamed until her lungs gave out. He knew he had me in the palm of his hand. I was the one wrapped around his tattooed finger. I still tell myself that I’m never gonna be alright. And the fact that he can take my pain and turn it into a song… It makes me hate him and love him so many time more. The fact that he took my pain and made it something beautiful, that he took it and made people fall in love with the words… I hate him for it. I hate him so much but I can’t bring myself to actually do anything about it because I’m still so desperately in love with him that I’m convinced he’ll come back for me and make everything better, that he’ll say he didn’t mean to leave me but something came up. But I know he won’t. He never will. He’ll lull in another girl, probably blonde, and kiss her the same way he did me. And there’s nothing I can do but sit here and love him with every fiber of my being.   



End file.
